


Tea Time

by freesiamoonbeam



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, Longing, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-22
Updated: 2019-02-22
Packaged: 2019-11-03 17:26:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17882096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freesiamoonbeam/pseuds/freesiamoonbeam
Summary: Aziraphale has some revelations while making tea. Or perhaps his mind just wandered and landed in the right place.





	Tea Time

Aziraphale was an angel of the Lord. He was a Principality, the Guardian of the East Gate, the one Angel stationed full-time on Earth. In contrast, Crowley was a demon, a Fallen angel, the Serpent, the First Tempter, and the one demon assigned on Earth to counter Heaven’s influence by staying and thwarting the angels’ divine plans.

Or was it the other way around?

Aziraphale the Angel used to think so. Aziraphale the book shop owner, and more importantly Crowley’s friend, when asked, would simply nod and hum thoughtfully. Perhaps he would say a few words here and there, and only when the interviewer was out on the next street over would he or she realize that Aziraphale said absolutely nothing of import.

That is, if the interviewer was a common human, only aware of their titles but not the full significance of what that meant. If the interviewer was a fellow angel, however, Aziraphale would dutifully nod and let the other angel fill in the gaps, perhaps adding one or two minor good deeds, and carefully avoiding mention of his…

What is Crowley to him?

A friend. Yes, that was the safe answer. Not the safest, mind you, to mention their friendship to another angel, but he could always point out that he was being busy by thwarting the demon’s nefarious deeds.

After all, a mildly-stressed ‘ _Crowley_ ’ with a slight frown usually does the trick.

And it’s not as if Crowley does anything _truly_ evil! He likes annoying and irritating people more than he likes driving them to the true destruction of the soul. Just last week, Crowley jammed the door of the local café, trapping many people inside and causing them to be late for work or school or whatever it is that humans do these days.

Aziraphale paused from the stirring of his tea.

He’d noticed, of course, and he unjammed it, but not after a good amount of time had passed, by his estimate. In his defense, the ducks were rather chatty and more demanding than usual.

No.

No, that wasn’t it.

What _had_ distracted him that day?

Aziraphale brought over the cup of tea to the large oak table in the back of his book shop. One of the many things that young Adam failed to take into account when he reset the world was that not all book shops contain small tables that can only accommodate a single plant pot, or perhaps a thin vase. Aziraphale, upon seeing the table, had immediately placed it in the exact middle of his shop. Its lack of space further emphasized the unwillingness of the bookshop owner, in this case Aziraphale, to actually sell books. The oak table that used to be in the center was now relegated to the back, along with the sofa. It made for a rather cramped space behind the counter, but most humans now only had to look through the glass doors to see the lack of chairs and the small, almost pitiful table, and they don’t even try to go inside anymore.

Aziraphale sat down on the sofa and placed the mug on the table. They were walking, he mused, at St. James Park. Crowley was going on about how everything seems so normal, despite the Apocanot. Or Apocawasn’t. Or was it something else? Aziraphale remembered pointing out that perhaps this was also part of the ineffable Plan, which was swiftly cut by Crowley’s incredulous ‘really?!’

It was followed by a string of words that he vaguely remembered turning into arguments and he…

Wait.

What did Aziraphale do again?

He remembered answers and arguments on the tip of his tongue, ready to counter Crowley’s assertions. He remembered the rich baritone that flowed out of lips far more used to smirking than smiling. He remembered the slightly raised chin, the well-pronounced cheekbones that moved with every word, the way his stride did not break while speaking, hands gesturing and suit tightening over well-formed arms, the sun shining on his dark hair as it blew in the breeze…

“-gel? Aziraphale? Don’t tell me you’ve resorted to ignoring me now,” Crowley had said, a note of concern in his tone, and Aziraphale quickly pulled his attention back to the present. It wasn’t until the panicked mutterings of humans reached his ears that his mind caught up to the present and he swung his head around to where people are attempting to pull the café door open.

He could feel the smirk on Crowley’s face, even if he wasn’t looking, and so Aziraphale waved his hand and miracled the door open.

That had not gone the way he expected it to.

The door opened inside, and so when it gave, the people pushing it from the outside knocked over the people pulling it from the inside. There had been chorus of groans and a not-insignificant amount of cursing, combined with the sharp tang of spilled coffee. Aziraphale had felt embarrassed. Crowley had _laughed_.

But that was hardly the most pressing concern of that day.

No, the most pressing concern, Aziraphale thought as he sipped as his tea, is that he cannot remember what Crowley had said. All he can remember, _all he can remember_ …

All he can remember was how beautiful he looked in the mid-morning sun.

But…

…why?

Aziraphale is an Angel. Crowley is a Demon. They should not find each other attractive at all.

He pauses and rewinds that last thought.

The thought of Crowley not finding him attractive was…disappointing. He fumbled with his nearly empty mug, finally setting it down on the table.

But did he, Aziraphale, angel of Heaven, truly think that Crowley, demon of Hell, is attractive?

Aziraphale spent a long time going over each and every part of he and Crowley’s six thousand years of friendship.

When he came back to present time, the tea had long since congealed into something decidedly unpleasant, and Aziraphale miracled it away to the sink.

The truth was this: He, Aziraphale, really does find Crowley attractive.*

Very attractive.

This sounds like a good thing to share with Crowley.

Crowley, the one person he could always count on to be there.

Crowley, his best friend.

Crowley, which he finds attractive.

Aziraphale pauses.

“…oh no.”

 

*It should be noted that at this point, Aziraphale has completely forgotten they are angel and demon and are therefore enemies. Perhaps while drinking yet another mug of tea in yet another time, he will realize the full implications of these revelations of his and will work up a proper panic, but for now, he is lost in the giddy feelings of someone who just realized something profoundly eye-opening and awe-inspiring. In this case, love.


End file.
